


Sponsorship Royalties

by SutaMasque



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:04:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4288305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SutaMasque/pseuds/SutaMasque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson wants to devote himself to science and create. What a pity it is that in this world reigns not intelligence but money. That’s why Mr. Higgsbury needs a sponsor, he desperately needs support. He will get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sponsorship Royalties

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Спонсорские Отчисления](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/126879) by Advocatich. 



_Thin lips start a burning trail on the neck, just under the jaw, and move down, pressing kisses so deeply that breathing becomes a hard task. Your throat trembles from the harsh touches and your Adam’s apple twitches when you swallow involuntarily. It’s not the first time when those long fingers make their way under your shirt, and your jacket has long ago been thrown away, creased on the floor. The touches of these cold hands burn like they’re red hot and are firm like metal when they feel your body, squeezing and tugging and stroking again in a commanding manner, dipping lower and repeating the madness.  
_ _Sharp teeth grab at the skin of your throat and the kiss turns into a bite. No, not a cute little nip which is often used in foreplay, but an actual bite which clenches your throat, making you call out and arch your back, pressing against the wide shoulders and scratching the expensive suit. While you’re struggling in panic, his hands already work on getting rid of your trousers and trace mockingly against your flesh, making you all the more aware of your own nudity._

    “I like your ideas very much, Mr. Higgsbury” a look from those curious eyes slides from one experimentation result to another, the tip of cigar leaves a smoky trail in the air, “But I think they’re missing something crucial…”  
    You’ve only met this strange man a short time ago, but now you feel like an idiot when you try to showcase the fruits of your intellectual labor.  
    The worst thing about what’s happening is that you can’t say he’s wrong. You can’t call him a moron and show him the door, because the worm of doubt has long since started living in your mind, and it starts eating you as soon as you cast a glance at your creations with a fresh morning gaze after a long night of work.  
    Not to say that all that you’ve created is a cheap gimmick nobody needs, but really, something is missing.  
     “Probably inspiration,” you try to joke, but for some reason your tongue feels weak and speaking doesn’t feel good. Is that the sting of truth?  
     “In the end we all do no more than is required by circumstances…” you shrug, approaching one of your creations, and don’t notice as the thin lips holding the cigar stretch in a grin.

_He enters swiftly and roughly, making you scream out. At least this sadist has let go of your throat. You push your forehead against his shoulder, feeling the expensive wool of his suit instead of skin, just as always. He never undresses, it’s like he always tries to keep the distance, letting you realize the gap between you. That habit drives you insane from irritation, but only when you think about it…which only happens when the night is over.  
_ _The pulsing pain makes you more responsive- usually you try to behave, be quiet, and sometimes you notice just how amused your tyrant’s reaction to that is. He knows like no one else than in less than half an hour you will be crying and moaning, lifting your hips and coiling your legs around his, pressing him closer and scratching the fabric of his suit from unbearable pain and burning desire that flows from your underbelly and courses through the rest of your body. You have never been masochistic…At least not until you ended up under him for the first time._

    Nothing is going right. The guest ended up being a nice sponsor, but wanted so much. The year since you got to know each other has been the most productive in your life, but just as exhausting. And then finally came the crisis. You don’t sleep for the second night in a row, see god knows what at the corners of your vision, but just as you close your eyes the thoughts make your head pound almost like it’s going to crack from their endless stream. Soon you will have to present him something; soon, very soon. But you have nothing, emptiness. Even in your head. Can’t scrape any thoughts together even for something pathetic.  
    The panic grows and seizes your whole being, paralyzes your hands. Every moment you hear a knock on the door, insinuating and legible like always, or steps on the staircase, clear but light. But there’s no one in the house beside you.  
     Sometimes you want to throw everything away and throw a fit when he arrives, to tell him that he has drained your brain like a sponge, that it’s not okay to do that to people! But then apathy takes away all your bravado and you understand just how pathetic was everything you’ve made before him just how much more self-sufficient you have become, more interesting, smarter, how much more rewarding the work has become with his support.  
   You can’t just deny it.            
    But you can’t offer anything this time either. So when he finally arrives you look more like a ghost, than a real person.  
    There’s nothing to offer. He understands everything without any explanation, even though one wouldn’t need any detective abilities for that. A look at the littered table and scrapped drafts lying everywhere, deep dark circles under your eyes and a growing stubble is enough to understand that everything isn’t going well.  
    The mysterious patron hems and lifts you by the shoulders off the seat, where you reside in silence and prostration since his very arrival. He gently pushes you to go down from your scientific attic and leads you to the bathroom. For some reason you find hot water, foam and a razor (has he heated up, prepared and brought everything? Or who else has done that? If not him then who? It looks like you’ve completely lost yourself in space and time.)  
    “Shave your filthy beard off, Mr. Higgsbury,” the man’s tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth in a disparaging manner as he intently watches you bring yourself back in order, “You don’t look so good.”  
    After warm water and scented soap, and especially because your sponsor, even if he treats you with accented skepticism, doesn’t leave (so maybe he hasn’t lost the interest for your affairs), you feel easier. And it gets even better when he leads you in the kitchen and gives you a cup of fragrant tea with a strong smell of brandy, there had to be added some to lift the spirits.  
    “So I see you’re desperate,” he makes the conclusion, taking a seat in front of you and leaving you to stand. How does he manage to seat on everything like it’s a throne? He doesn’t let you speak, even if the response is clear, he continues.  
    “Well, then I have something I could offer. Something that could become your magnum opus and even put you, so young, at the same level with the best minds of all times.”  
    You have heard attractive offers like this many times, but the fact you know this person isn’t bluffing makes everything so different. What can he offer?  
    You notice a grin on his lips and frown a bit. Looks like your behavior was too reckless for such a reaction to be to remain a secret.  
    “But you understand, don’t you, Mr. Higgsbury, that if I give you everything for a project of this level, I must be secure of your loyalty and of the fact you will continue working no matter what. ”

_Everything burns inside and you lose your breath from passion, pushing your fingers in his hair shamelessly and clutching at it. He doesn’t mind that, you know. His palm lays on the back of your head as if in a reply, tugs on the black locks, pulling you closer and not letting you writhe too much or avoid the most sensible thrusts, which cause you to cry out to the point of losing your voice. The many times you have screamed under him are impossible to count, yet he still manages to get the new notes of pleasure mixed with insufferable pain out of you. But you like it exactly that way, you can’t lie when the sensations overwhelm you, and he would have found out about your true feelings even if you tried to hide them better.  
_ _Finally the movements become heavier, rougher; your legs grow numb from trying to press in closer to your tyrant’s groin, and you both come – he’s first from your striving to find more of these sensations, you’re right after him as the peak in your feelings is symbolized by the burning fullness inside._

    You have sold your body for knowledge, as the proof of loyalty, but shame doesn’t bother you. Really, you’re not tormented by emotions anymore, neither are you bothered by looking for the meaning nor by the lack of inspiration. He! He has really given you the knowledge and the blueprints which narrow-minded people can’t even imagine! This is almost alchemy, almost magic – science beyond the limits of possible!  You’re celebrating, because the creation is already completed. The only thing left is to turn it on…Your hand shakes slightly as you hold it out for the lever…What an impermissible folly this is! This, everything hasn’t been done just to give up the last moment! The Rubicon could not remain uncrossed! And this lever has to be pulled!  
    A click.  
    Gnashing.  
    Shadows.  
    Darkness.

    “Say pal, you don’t look so good,” the familiar voice cuts through the blurred consciousness. Why so informal? You feel a light breeze and the warmth of sun with your skin…Strange, wasn’t it nighttime and the windows on your attic were closed?… “You better find something to eat before night comes!”  
    That doesn’t make sense…What is He talking about?


End file.
